


bottom of the bottle

by VeteranKlaus



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bonding, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Post-Season/Series 02, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25906393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeteranKlaus/pseuds/VeteranKlaus
Summary: In which Klaus has a conversation with Luther about drinking, drugs, and the Umbrella Academy.
Comments: 38
Kudos: 279





	bottom of the bottle

**Author's Note:**

> Season 2 spoilers ahead.
> 
> Basically I want Luther and Klaus bonding, and I thought it was very interesting that Luther dabbles with drugs and drinks in excess when confronted his problems and being depressed in both season 1 and 2.
> 
> AU where they go back to 2019 and there is no sparrow academy.

With his lack of a proper sleep schedule and his inability to fall asleep in the first place, Klaus has been witness to a handful of odd things his siblings do at night, and they’ve only been back in 2019 for two weeks.

It’s most common for him to run into Five, most often in the kitchen and pouring a generous amount of whiskey into what Klaus can only guess is his fifth cup of coffee, muttering to no one in particular and glaring at Klaus when he notices his presence. He’s run into Diego, sitting by the fireplace and brooding, idly fiddling with one of his many knives. He’s even run into Vanya, sitting up in the attic and gazing out upon the city with a longing look in her eyes that he understands, on some level. When Vanya thinks of Sissy, it isn’t with thoughts of gunshots and blood and too-late goodbyes. 

He’s caught Allison once, and they shared a cigarette in the attic and didn’t exchange words because the air was too heavy for it. He’s only seen her that one time, and he’s never caught Luther around after he’s headed to his bedroom; the only one of them that seems to be blessed with the ability to sleep or who didn’t leave behind a family in the sixties. 

Until now. 

Sometimes, Klaus likes to wander out of the Academy and around the streets at this time, when there should be no one out except for the dead and he can pretend it’s almost peaceful, but the walks have been tainted with a bitter, cold taste now that Klaus has to do them alone. At least before, he’d have Ben by his side. Now his brother’s absence feels too overwhelming and his walks always turn into a bout of depression and mourning. 

He tries not to think about it, like usual, as if he can keep dancing around this heavy grief he feels until it’s gone, or at least just delay having to face it for a little longer. Tonight he’ll chase it away with smoking enough cigarettes that his mouth feels rancid and he’ll have to brush his teeth twice when he gets back, and maybe he’ll wander a little closer to the liquor store than he usually does. That’s the plan, anyway.

He skips down the stairs and heads to the doors only to pause, one foot still lifted in the air, when he hears someone in the - infirmary? There’s a clash, something thuds to the floor, and sudden concern spikes through Klaus. Quickly he turns, heading in the direction of the infirmary. He can’t imagine why someone would be hurt, but getting attacked is a normal occurrence for them, and so it doesn’t surprise him as it perhaps should. 

Rushing in, Klaus nudges open the door and looks around, a worried question dying on the tip of his tongue when he actually gets to the infirmary. At least, he thinks, no one’s hurt. Yet, anyway.

Luther is in the infirmary, much to his surprise. Luther is standing in front of the medicine cabinet. One of his hands are on the wall, steadying himself, and the other grasps a bottle of liquor by its neck - one of the expensive ones, from Reginald’s bar. It’s half empty. Klaus frowns, watching as Luther fumbles to unlock the medicine cabinet and begins studying all the drugs in there.

“Hey,” says Klaus, when it’s obvious his brother doesn’t know he’s there yet. “What you doing?”

Luther startles a little, head snapping to Klaus, and then he deflates. “Nothing,” he says dismissively. “Go back to bed.”

He really considers taking the chance to just turn around and leave his brother to whatever it is that he’s doing, but there’s a sliver of unease in his stomach and his conscience that sounds suspiciously like Ben telling him that he shouldn’t leave right now. 

He debates it for a moment longer, trying to convince himself to be selfish and to just try and sleep again, but he isn’t convincing enough. With a sigh, Klaus seals his fate and steps further into the infirmary.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks, because Luther looks - dishevelled. He’s never quite seen Luther like this, and it’s an odd, unnerving sight; it clashes with the image of Luther in his head, standing tall with his head raised, standing at the forefront of the Academy, all Number One. Here, Luther grunts a vague acknowledgement and offers no further response, so Klaus comes a little closer, peering into the medicine cabinet to see what’s got his interest.

“Ibuprofen’s up top if you’ve got a headache, big guy,” he comments. Luther’s lips press together and he doesn’t look for any sort of painkiller. He picks up a bottle of sleeping pills, studying the label. Klaus’ eyes stray back to the bottle of alcohol in his hand and he closes the rest of the distance to gently push Luther’s hand back into the cabinet, a silent gesture to put the sleeping pills down. “Not with that,” he nods to the alcohol, “trust me. You’re just gonna have to sleep it off yourself, dude.”

“I can’t sleep,” Luther says, and something about the way he says it makes Klaus think he’s not necessarily referring to his search for sleeping pills. Looking a little irritated, but mostly just tired - so tired - Luther takes a step back, allowing Klaus to slip in between him and the medicine cabinet, closing it with his back and leaning against it. Luther’s eyes seek out the clock. “‘S not too late,” he states, although it’s kind of late. “Want to go out?”

Klaus blinks. “What?”

Luther nods, cementing the idea to himself. “We can - go out. To a bar, or something.” He swirls the bottle in his hand, staring at it, and looks at Klaus with a poorly-placed hopeful expression, feigning optimism. 

Again, Klaus says, “what?”

Luther takes a swig of his alcohol, and then he draps one arm over Klaus’ shoulders, steering him in the direction of the door. “Yeah, yeah, come on, let’s go out, get some drinks, have some fun, come on-”

Klaus suddenly regrets not going to bed when he had the chance. “Uh, yeah, no - I’m going to have to stop you there, big guy,” he says, wiggling out of his grip and coming to stand in front of him. “I think you’ve had enough to drink and that it’s past your curfew, so come on, upstairs it is-”

Unsurprisingly, Klaus cannot move Luther, although he gives it his best attempt. He groans, turning again to face him. “Luther, come on, I’m sober now, remember? I can’t go to a bar.” It’s - not entirely a lie. He’s mostly sober, now. He’s still not touched drugs since Dave died and he decided to get sober, and the alcohol is the least of his problems. He’s even cutting down on it, slowly but surely, because each time he stares down the neck of a bottle all he sees is Ben’s sad face flashing in his mind. 

Luther sighs, shoulders slumping in disappointment, and he looks all depressed and disappointed, so Klaus hurries to try and distract him. “Hey, how about we go to the kitchen, then? Midnight snack? Like old times?”

He nudges him, taking a few steps in the direction of the kitchen.

“Let’s go have  _ fun _ ,” Luther insists, sounding nearly desperate, and Klaus eyes him for a moment.

On the streets, and long before then, Klaus ran all the time. Too afraid to face his problems, Klaus ran, and ran himself thin with life on the streets, and then he was in too deep to get out and he hadn’t even realised how deep he had gotten. It started as he tried to find a way to cope, and it snowballed into something worse and he couldn’t stop it.

His thoughts bounce back to the first time he saw Luther drunk, years ago now, and Luther at the rave. He presses his lips together, sweeping a hand out to snatch the alcohol from his brother’s hand. 

“Alright, come on,” he says, tugging him by the wrist into the kitchen. Surprisingly, Luther follows, and lets himself be lead towards the table. He sits down and Klaus pours a glass of water, setting it down in front of himself, and then he pulls out the chair beside him and sits down.

Ben would know what to say here, he thinks. He’d know how to deal with Luther right now, and know the right things to say, and he’d be nicer, more approachable, more comforting, and probably more well-received.

But Ben isn’t here, and Klaus is the one in front of Luther right now. Sighing, he drags his hands down his cheeks and ducks his head to catch his brother’s eyes. “What’s going on in that head of yours, bro?” He asks. “You know pills and alcohol aren’t the way to go.”

Luther’s fingers drum on the water he was given and he shrugs. Klaus reaches forwards and nudges his knee. 

“Why you drinking by yourself, then?” He asks instead, raising his eyebrows. Luther delays any answer even longer by sipping his water. 

“Why do you care?” He asks, though his tone isn’t snappy or rude.

“Because,” says Klaus, dropping his hands and inching a little closer. “You’re my brother.”

Luther stares at him for a moment, as if a little shocked, and then he looks briefly away. “I had it good,” he says, leaning back. “For a while, in the sixties. And now I’m back in the Academy. I wasted my whole life here, you know? I know that now.” He goes silent, but his mouth still moves for a moment, tempted to say more before finally just closing his mouth and looking away, setting his jaw. 

Exhaling slowly, Klaus bobs his head in a nod. The Academy has the ability to bring up horrible old memories, and Klaus feels uncomfortable being here as well, even if their father isn’t here. He wishes he could be elsewhere, but there’s nowhere for him to go - at least, not yet. It scares him, a little, thinking like that. That  _ not yet -  _ the idea that one day he will have somewhere to go. Maybe that’s the next thing he needs to do, now; some new chapter in his life, because he has no intentions on returning to the streets and no intentions on staying in the Academy. Ben would be horrifically proud of him. 

He can’t imagine Luther’s feeling any more comfortable, after finally realising that his entire childhood - his entire life - was a lie, and that all the hardships he put himself through for Reginald were unnecessary; that he deserved better. And when he did get that, somewhat, he ends up right back here.

If it wouldn’t be slightly inappropriate and entirely counterproductive, Klaus would pour himself a glass of whiskey and give a cheers to Luther. 

“It sucks,” he agrees wholeheartedly. “This place fucking sucks, man.” He can’t help the laugh that slips from his lips, but he stifles the rest from coming out. Instead of giving into his temptation of ranting and venting his own hatred for this place and his own horrors that were created here, he forces himself to focus on Luther and the problem staring him in the face.

Klaus might simply be overlooking this whole situation by leagues, and he’s well aware that his mind has a tendency to jump to extremes, especially when dealing with alcohol and drugs, but raising his concerns now will do no one any harm, but potentially steer clear of any future danger. At least, he hopes so. He can’t imagine Luther would ever go down a similar route to himself with drinking or drugs. 

But he had thought the same about himself once, too. That he would never get as bad as he did; never go further than some weed, and then he’d only ever do molly when he was at clubs, and then the cocaine was just because he was curious, and the pills were easy to get, and he just wanted some god damn peace and maybe heroin could get him that-

So, Klaus would prefer to air on the side of caution. He’s already been keeping an eye on Five’s drinking, though no chance to talk to his younger-oldest brother about that has presented itself yet.

Klaus waves a hand at the alcohol he took from his brother, out of Luther’s reach on the table. “It sucks,” he echoes, “but that? Isn’t the way to deal with it.”

“I’m not-” says Luther, and then pauses, cheeks puffing out. “I’m not - drinking  _ recklessly _ ,” he defends. Klaus hums, drumming his fingers on the table.

“I didn’t say that,” he says. “But after the rave, can you blame me for being a little - worried?”

Luther’s cheeks heat a little and he looks away. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and there’s an odd mix of embarrassment and shame and guilt on his face. “But it was…” He trails off, pressing his lips together and somehow looking even more guilty.

“Good?” Klaus suggests, nonchalant, and his brother nods. Klaus nods in tandem, leaning back and sighing. He understands, because the drugs  _ do  _ feel good, especially after a spectacularly shitty day, and knows that better than anyone. He doesn’t hold that night against Luther; knows Luther didn’t mean for Klaus to get hurt; and god knows Klaus has actively done bad things while high. 

“Yeah,” continues Klaus. “It is good, the first few times, when you go out to a club and have a good time and screw your brains out after-” Luther’s cheeks heat up even more. “And then you buy too much, and you have a shitty day and need a little pick-me-up, and you know you can handle it, and you know it makes you feel good, and it’s virtually nothing. And then yada yada yada, you’re doing it every night only it isn’t good enough and you feel horrible so you try something else to try and feel good again, and something else, and something else - you get the gist of it,” he drawls, rolling his hand in a vague gesture. 

“Klaus,” Luther murmurs, finally turning back to look at him. “I’m - I’m sorry,” he says, flexing his hands, and Klaus offers a half-smile; waves him off.

“Don’t worry about it, bro,” he says. “But I’m rambling. Point is,” he jabs an accusatory finger at the alcohol bottle, “drinking? Great. Love it. Fun times for everyone. Not so fun when you’re drinking  _ because  _ you’re sad, then it’s a bit of a problem, and trying to distract yourselves with parties never works in the long run, bro. Trust me.”

Luther drags a heavy hand down his face, sighing. “I know,” he agrees, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t… uh, I don’t want to put this pressure on you, but-”

“No worries,” Klaus hurriedly reassures him. “I’m fine, and if I’m not then I have five siblings to piss off until I’m distracted. Just like you can, too, you know, instead of this.” Again, he gestures to the alcohol. 

Luther toys with his bottom lip for a moment. “How do you deal with being here?” He asks, and Klaus laughs at that.

“Oh, I don’t,” he says truthfully. “I’ve not slept in two days and I’m this close to pranking the coffee so that Five will threaten me and I’ll feel a rush of something, but…” He sighs heavily. “I was going to settle for going out for a smoke and kicking some rocks down the street. You’re welcome to join me, if you want. And,” he offers a sly smile, “I solemnly swear not to tell anyone if you want one.” 

At the confused look Luther gives him, Klaus tugs out his packet of cigarettes and holds it in his direction, but Luther just screws his face up. “It smells,” he states, and Klaus sighs pleasantly.

“The sweet smell of nicotine, my dear.” 

He rises to his feet in a fluid motion, but remains on the spot, raising his eyebrows. “Coming?”

Luther presses his lips together, glances at the door. Then he stands. Klaus claps his hands together. “You’ve sobered up, yeah?” He asks, looking him up and down, and Luther nods.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good now,” he dismisses. By the door, he tugs his coat on and holds Klaus’ out to him. He waits on the doorstep as Klaus lights up a cigarette, and then together they begin to wander down the dimly lit streets. He doesn’t have any destination in mind, but maybe with Luther walking with him he might take a wander to the park. 

After several minutes of silence between them, broken only by the background noise of the city and the faint and not-so-faint wailing that only Klaus can hear, Luther speaks up again.

“Uh, Klaus?”

“Mhmm?”

“I just… thank you,” he murmurs awkwardly. Klaus raises an eyebrow at him and he continues. “I know I’ve been - horrible, to you. For years. But I am sorry.”

His lips purse around his cigarette and he watches ash fall from the smouldering tip. “We’re all a little bit of an asshole, I think,” he says. “But… thanks. I probably just spouted a ton of bullshit back there, but I mean it. There’s better ways of dealing with the shit that is the Umbrella Academy. You did just fine on your own in the sixties, you can do it again. Find a new place, move on, all that shit.”

Luther looks around in thought. “What about you?” He asks, and the question takes Klaus off guard a little. He shrugs.

“Eh. I’m not inclined to stay there for much longer. I’ll figure something out.”

“Not like…”

“Preferably not like before, no. I’ll be  _ fine _ , Luther. Keep looking at me like that and I’m going to think you want to be my roommate.”

Luther scoffs, but the sound is gentle. They lapse back into silence for a while before Klaus mutters, “I’d be a great roommate.”

“If you could refrain from lighting the curtains on fire. Again,” Luther comments, and Klaus snorts. He and Luther exchange a glance and fizzle off into small chuckles, slowly trailing off. Klaus kicks a stone with his foot. 

“Klaus?”

“Mhmm?”

“If the offer still stands… I’ll take that cigarette, now.”

Klaus gapes at Luther, jaw dropping, before his shock slips away and a small grin tugs his lips. “Oh, hell yeah, brother,” he drawls, eagerly tugging out his pack to hand one over and light it for him. “Won’t tell anyone,” he hums his promise from earlier. Luther doesn’t notice the fingers crossed behind his back. 

If he tells anyone, it’ll just be in good spirit, since that’s apparently the kind of thing he can do with Luther now; joke and laugh and make non-shitty memories with his brother.

He thinks Ben would be proud of him tonight. 

**Author's Note:**

> I simply Need Klaus and Luther bonding


End file.
